


So This Is Christmas

by Selenay



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys In Love, Christmas, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/pseuds/Selenay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas, a year after everything changed. Simon is surprisingly calm, Baz is surprisingly worried about Simon's calmness, and it would all be fine if only someone hadn't stabbed Baz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This Is Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katewonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katewonder/gifts).



> Thank you to my marvellous beta, P, and to the amazing Carry On for providing such fantastic source material.

## Baz

I don't know why I'm doing this.

No, that's a lie, and I try not to lie to myself no matter what I tell anyone else. I know why I'm doing this; what I don't know is why Snow is doing this. I thought he'd spend Christmas being morose and quiet, the way he gets whenever the reminders of what happened a year ago get too real. That's what I was preparing myself for. He can be a moody git when he wants to be.

But Crowley, I love him anyway, worse luck.

If a tendency towards moodiness and dark brooding were going to make me run, our fifth year at Watford would have been a lot easier. It's not like falling for the supposed hero of the World of Magic and my arch-nemesis-slash-obsession-object was fun for me at that point. Moodiness actually makes him more devastatingly attractive, hard as that is to believe.

I'm doing this because Simon Snow asked me to. I'm filling my car with bags of stuff that glitters and glows--and a Christmas tree that I will definitely not be putting together--because Simon Snow caught me in a weak moment.

(Bunce and Snow can figure out how the bloody tree fits together. It'll be another self sufficiency lesson for both of them.)

It's December and I'm in serious danger of becoming the Christmas fairy. The second part of that is true no matter what time of year it is, but the Christmas part? Christmas is awkward and horrible. It's stiff formal clothes, and perfectly decorated trees, and everyone so brittle they snap if the turkey isn't roasted just right.

I thought Snow would stay far away from turkey and tinsel. That he would associate all this festivity and glitter with the terrible things that happened last year and retreat from it, not throw himself in head first. One day, I'll actually understand him. Every thought, every instinct and impulse, will actually make sense eventually.

That's probably a vain hope, isn't it?

***

"I've never done my own Christmas," Snow says, as we're driving back to his flat after escaping from John Lewis. "I've always been helping to decorate someone else's tree."

That almost makes sense, in a heartbreaking sort of way. Oh.

Snow looks uncomfortable, hunched in the passenger seat of my car because his hidden wings don't fit, but it's better than trying to lug all this stuff on the Tube. He still forgets to hold his tail up, and it's so crowded right now that everyone steps on it.

"I know that I'm still eating someone else's turkey on Christmas Day," he says, with a shrug, "but I've never had my own decorations to put up in my own flat before."

"Does Bunce know that you're buying all this?" I ask, before I can stop myself. I wasn't supposed to start liking his friends, too. It was just supposed to be him. "It's her flat, too."

Snow rolls his eyes. "I asked her this morning, all right? She said it was a great idea and it's time I started having my own stuff. If you don't want to help, you don't have to stay."

"Where else am I going to go?"

"Back to your flat?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

A pleased smile hovers at the corners of Snow's lips for the rest of the drive. If I was less responsible, I'd lean over and kiss it off.

He probably knows it, too.

I still don't know why he isn't freaking out about Christmas and all the fucked up things that happened last year. Maybe it's because he's got years of normal Christmases to remember and he wants to recapture those instead of dwelling on the worst one of his life. Maybe.

It wasn't the worst of my life. Simon Snow kissed me for the first time a year ago. Everything else was fucked up and awful, but that moment still happened, and it's worth remembering everything else if I can remember that, too.

***

## Simon

I know Baz is worrying about me. It's there in his eyes whenever he looks at me. I'm not freaking out the way he expects me to and it's unnerving him. I talked about it with my therapist--why I'm not spiralling into a depressed funk when I probably should be--and she didn't have any answers.

Christmas this year feels like a new start.

Or at least, like it _can_ be a new start. 

Last year, it was the end of everything, or that's how it felt. The end of magic. The end of being the saviour. The end of the Mage and what he'd tried to manipulate me to be. The end of bad things and good things and everything in between, and it's taken most of the year for all those endings to feel all right. Last Christmas wasn't all endings, but it's the endings that were the hardest to get my head around. Compared to everything else, adjusting to having a boyfriend and a tail was almost easy.

There's nothing to end this Christmas, except this transition year. That's what the past year has felt like: time spent moving from one state to another, but not moving forward. Holding where we are while we work out how we all fit together in the new order of the world. Transition.

So now, it's time to start something new. Starting with some new Christmas traditions is as good a place as any, right?

As usual, I'm left to lug the heavy stuff up four flights of stairs, even though Baz could probably carry the tree with one finger. He bitches about the bags of tinsel and baubles he reluctantly agreed to carry, but they're not heavy and I saw the way he almost broke out with a smile when we were choosing all this.

He'll say it's all my choice. That's bollocks, but sometimes it's important to let him believe that I can't see straight through him.

Penny and I moved the furniture this morning, so there's a space for the tree. I lean the box against the wall and head for the kitchen to make a sandwich. Baz dumps his bags on the coffee table, but he's careful with the bag containing the glass stuff. Like I said, I can see through him. I try never to let him know that.

He's fiddling with his phone when I carry my plate into the living room. There are more than enough sandwiches for both of us and he's eyeing them thoughtfully when Penny bursts in, almost hidden under a huge wreath and a stack of textbooks.

"I'm going to get some coffee," Baz says, standing up. "Want anything?"

We have coffee in the kitchen. And tea. But there's a Starbucks on the corner and he always gets a craving when there's work to do. Funny that.

Penny drops her textbooks on a chair and shoots him a challenging look. "Peppermint mocha. Extra cream."

Baz rolls his eyes, but I know that he'll buy it for her. He tries to pretend, but I know he's got a soft spot for Penny. If he didn't, he wouldn't spend so much time over here with us. He knows that I'd be over at his flat most days if he didn't come over. But he spends practically every evening and most weekends here--haunting the flat, just like he promised--and Penny is about as good as me at making new friends, so she's mostly here, too.

It's weird.

It's great.

It's much easier having a boyfriend that my best friend is sort of friends with. Having a boyfriend is hard in other ways, but not having to fight Penny over it helps.

I don't think Baz gets that from his family. The accepting his boyfriend part. I won't be going there for Christmas this year. He didn't have to tell me that I wasn't welcome. It's pretty bloody obvious any time one of them comes to London.

Baz is probably going up to visit them. He hasn't talked about it yet. Penny's parents have invited me to spend Christmas Day with them and I think they'd be fine with Baz coming, but I didn't like to ask. I caused enough disruption to the Bunce family Christmas last year.

Baz kisses me as he leaves, a quick brush of lips that feels so familiar and strange all at once. It's so casual. Even with Agatha, I never got into habitual types of kisses.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I'll only drink half of yours anyway."

He rolls his eyes and kisses me again, ignoring Penny's mock vomiting, and then he's gone.

"Could you two get any more domestic?" she asks.

I point to the pile of Christmas decorations. "I think that boat sailed about two hours ago."

Penny sighs, but she's smiling. "It's nice to see you happy."

"Yeah," I say. "I guess I am. Help me put the tree up before he gets back and provides a running commentary?"

***

## Baz

I'm carrying the tray of drinks when someone rushes at me from an alleyway.

Something.

It runs at me and punches me in the stomach. The drinks fly through the air and I don't see where the creature goes next because...fuck, this hurts. Hurts so much.

My hands are wet and sticky. There's a knife sticking out of my belly.

I grab the hilt and try to pull it out, but my knees buckle and I can't do it. Everything is fading.

Fading.

_fading..._

***

## Simon

The flat is a glittering, glowing grotto by the time we finish decorating. I've never had a space of my own--almost my own--to do this in. It was always other people's houses. Foster homes. Places where I was decorating for other people. Penny and I decorated for us. However we wanted. As much as we wanted.

Baz would say that it looks like Christmas threw up in here, and he'd be right.

"What time is it?" I ask, as Penny starts picking up empty boxes.

"Nearly eight." She frowns. "Where's Baz?"

***

## Penny

When we find Baz, the look in Simon's eyes frightens me. Scared and bleak, like he hasn't been since last Christmas.

Baz is lying in a shop door, curled on his side with his hands pressed against his belly. Under the orange streetlights, his blood looks black. It's a good thing the shop is closed this late at night, or we'd have some difficult questions to ask. I'm not sure that taking a vampire to the local A & E is a good idea.

I didn't know he could look paler, but he does. Simon's face is white, too, and his hand shakes as he reaches out touch Baz's face.

Baz opens his eyes slowly. They're dark and hazy, and when he opens his mouth, there are far more teeth on show than he ever normally lets us see.

"Ow," he says. Whispers.

Simon makes an odd sound at the back of his throat. A whimper. I've never heard anything like it from him, not even after the Mage...not even after last Christmas. 

I kneel down beside him and reach for Baz's hands. He tries to shy away and something glitters, a hint of silver under the dark blood. A knife hilt.

Someone's stabbed him. But he's a vampire. I thought they were supposed to be indestructible unless you get them with a stake or lighter. He looks like he's dying.

***

## Baz

I wake up in the flat, sprawled on Snow's sofa. There's a memory lurking at the back of my mind, of Snow crouched beside me, making weird noises, but it's so fuzzy that it could have been a dream.

Lying here isn't a dream. Everything hurts. Not just the knife in my belly, everything. Pain shooting through every muscle and my head fit to burst.

I can't have been completely out of it, because I'm here in the flat. Snow and Bunce couldn't have carried me all the way here if I'd been that far gone, and now that I'm waking up more, I know that memory of Snow crouching over me was real. He's hovering--not literally--a couple of feet away, looking scared shitless.

That almost hurts more than this knife.

Almost.

"What happened?" I say. Try to say. It comes out as a mumble. My lips and tongue won't cooperate, so I try again, working hard to enunciate properly.

Snow is too pale, but he kneels down beside me and I know that he's trying to look calm. "You got stabbed."

"I know that. How did I get here?"

"Penny has gone to find help." Snow's jeans and sweater are covered in dark blood that smells rotten to me. He must have helped me here, even if he couldn't carry me the whole way. His smile looks fake and stretched. "You should rest. We'll get you fixed up in no time."

"Liar," I say.

Snow winces. "Penny thinks the knife was poisoned."

"That explains all the pain, then."

"Are you thirsty?"

"I've got a knife in my belly."

Snow gives me a look, and I understand. I'm losing blood. Too much, too fast, and it's not like I can make more. It's dark and smells bad, which isn't a good sign. Maybe it doesn't smell bad to him, but to me it's sour and rotten, with an undertone of acid. Really not a good sign.

Bagged blood doesn't smell appetising, but it's not nauseating the way this muck is.

Bunce may be on the right track about poison. I don't know enough about vampires to have the first clue what would poison me. I've never wanted to know.

"Are you hungry?" Snow asks again.

I was quiet for too long. He's worried. I try to smile, but nothing seems to be working right. "I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

I'm really not. The rotten blood smell is putting me off the thought of ever eating anything again, blood or food.

I gasp as a wave of pain shoots down my spine. Crowley, this is a bad way to die.

Snow grabs my hand and holds on tight. The pain fades a little. I don't know whether it's his touch or coincidence, but I'm not taking any chances. I hold onto his hand with all my strength, which can't be that much because Snow doesn't flinch.

"Don't die," he says, suddenly looking fierce. "After everything we've done, you can't die."

I swallow. "I'm doing my best."

He nods, jerky and stiff, and there's nothing else to say.

***

## Simon

I lose track of time after a while. I can see that the energy is bleeding out of Baz with every drop of black blood. His life is draining away bit by bit, minute by minute.

I know what he is. Vampire. He isn't really alive, so it shouldn't be possible to watch his life trickling away, but it's happening. He's not really dead, either, is he? Whatever it is that keeps him moving and being Baz, that's what we're losing, and I can't fight it.

If I still had magic, maybe I could do something. I know Penny couldn't, but I was never like her. My magic was always wrong and too strong, and I know that if this had happened in the final days, I could have fixed Baz with a thought.

I don't miss magic, not in the way Penny would, but right now? I'd give anything to have it back. And I'm glad that I don't have it, at the same time, because I'd wring every drop of power out of the world if it would save Baz.

His hand is always cool to touch until I've held it for a while, but now it's icy cold and makes my fingers ache. I can't let go, no matter how much it hurts, because letting go feels like I'd be letting him go. There isn't enough energy left for him to talk and I'm not sure that he's even aware that I'm here, but I can't let him fade away without me.

Not alone.

He's been alone too many times in his life.

Dawn is starting to turn the sky silver when I hear Penny's key in the lock. I didn't know it was that late. Penny looks serious when she comes in, and my heart sinks. She didn't find anything.

"I found something," she says. Oh. "You're not going to like it."

Ah.

"Why?"

She pulls a small vial out of her bag. "You've got to make him drink this."

"That's not so bad."

"And drink some blood."

I look around dubiously. "Are there any rats left around here?"

"Not rat blood," Penny says. "Your blood. Or my blood. Blood from a living human, not stored stuff and not animal blood."

"He won't do it." I don't even have to look at him to know that. He's always so careful. "Who gave that to you, anyway?"

"Nicodemus." Penny grimaces. "I called Baz's aunt. I didn't know who else would know anything vampires. She's bloody terrifying when she's angry, but she probably loves Baz more than anyone else in her family. If she finds out who did this to him, they'll be sorry. I almost like her."

I don't say anything. It's up to Baz whether he wants to let Penny into the family secrets and relationships or not, and I don't think they're that kind of friends yet. They're only just at the exchanging Christmas cards stage.

"How did she make Nicodemus help us?" I ask.

"I don't know. I don't want to know. He looked scared when he took me to the club to buy the antidote." Penny's eyes turn thoughtful. "She mightn't have had to do much. He doesn't like people who use poison. I think he may still have some kind of moral code left, somewhere deep down."

"Is there any other way to cure Baz?" I ask, and I'm not surprised when Penny shakes her head. She wouldn't have told me about this cure if there was. "I have to give him the choice."

Penny frowns. "Do you really think he'll say no? It's his life we're talking about."

"How much blood?" I keep my eyes fixed on Penny's, watching for any hint that she's not telling me everything. I don't think she'd lie to me, but she knows about me and Baz, she knows how far I'd go, and she might be a bit cagey with the truth if she thinks it'll help somehow. "Does he need to drain someone, or will a few drops do?"

"I don't..." Penny trails off and her frown turns thoughtful. "I didn't ask. Nicodemus just said fresh human blood and laughed."

"Do I need magic for this?"

"Just the elixir and some blood. The magic is in the elixir."

"Did you make it?"

She shakes her head. "It takes a couple of days to ferment properly. Nicodemus put me in contact with a brewer. Baz owes me a hundred pounds and a new watch."

"l'll make sure he pays you back." Before I wake Baz--or try to, anyway--I need to know one thing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Penny asks.

"Helping Baz. Saving him."

She pauses in the middle of unbuttoning her coat and gives me a long look that makes me squirm. "Why wouldn't I? He's important to you."

"You never liked him when we were at school."

"I'm your friend and you two seemed to hate each other when we were at school." She unfastens the last two buttons slowly. "I should have known there was more to it. He's not that bad when you get to know him. Sometimes he's even likable."

"Thank you."

Penny turns around from hanging her coat up, and there's a sparkle in her eyes that I don't want to look at too closely. "And it's Christmas. If we can't do the right thing and be decent to each other at Christmas, there's no hope for us, is there?"

She puts the vial down on the coffee table and hurries away to her bedroom before I can find any words to respond. Staying up all night hunting for a cure must have been exhausting, but I don't think that's why she's gone. This isn't something Baz would want anyone else to see.

He's so grey that I'm worried it's too late already and he's gone, but his eyelashes flutter when I touch his cheek.

"We've got an antidote," I say.

His voice is barely more than a whisper and I have to lean close to make out what he says. "I heard."

That saves a bit of time. "What do you want to do?"

The corners of his mouth twitch, as though he'd be smiling if he had enough energy. "I want to survive."

I make note of the word--survive rather than live--but that's an argument we could have for the next five years without resolving. He's always so careful to be cool and deprecating about his status, as if that will change anything. To me, he's alive, even though there are people who would line up to argue that he's really not. How can anyone who drinks bizarrely sweet Starbucks "coffee" and kiss the way he does be anything except completely alive? What he has to do to stay that way doesn't matter.

Except right now, because this is different from draining a few rats or feasting on an occasional deer. The only living human who can give him what he needs is me--he'd never let Penny do it.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You know what it means."

"Do I?" he asks. "Afraid I'll turn into a slavering monster?"

I'm afraid that's what he thinks will happen, but I don't say that. Instead, I peel my hand away from his. I've been holding on for so long, and he's so cold, that my fingers have stiffened up and I have to force the muscles to work again.

There isn't a convenient sharp edge anywhere to use, so I have to stretch over and rummage in the bureau drawer where we keep spare boxes of pencils and biros. Penny always keeps a pair of craft scissors in there. I test the edge and brace myself before pressing my thumb down until the skin splits and begins bleeding.

Baz's eyes are sharp on the blood trickling down my thumb when I look at him.

"Are you sure?" I ask again.

His gaze moves up, to my face, and I can tell that it's an effort to do it. His tongue flickers out across his parched lips. It's grey, as grey as his skin, and I know we don't have long.

"I'm not ready to give up yet," he whispers, and his gaze flickers back to my bleeding thumb as his hands fasten around the hilt of the knife.

***

## Baz

Pulling the knife out hurts. Fuck, it hurts. A gush of cold spreads across my belly and I don't have to look down to know that black blood is pouring out of the wound. It's written across Snow's face. He's always been crap at hiding anything.

With the blood, the last of my reserves pour out, and the knife falls out of my hands. I can't make my fingers move. There's nothing left inside me. Nothing except a desperate need to keep going, to keep pushing on, because I can't leave Simon Snow behind. It would kill him.

Snow picks up the vial with his good hand and tugs out the cork with his teeth. He still doesn't look certain, so I nod to encourage him. Try to nod, anyway. I think my head moves a fraction.

"Yes," I try to say, but all I hear is a soft hiss of air.

It's enough. Snow nods and reaches forward, holding his bleeding thumb above my lips.

The rotten smell from the black blood is still making the air taste rank. Maybe that's what saves me from going wild with that rich red blood tempting me. I can't smell it, can't even sense it, because the foul stuff pouring from my wound is turning my stomach.

Despite the nausea, I can't tear my gaze away from the blood slowly oozing from the cut on Snow's thumb, pooling to form a droplet that dangles temptingly just out of reach. If I had the energy, I'd grab his wrist and...

I don't have the energy, but that's not what stops me. There's a line I've never crossed and I won't cross. I may be undead, but I'm not turning into one of the creatures I saw at that club, either. If I grab Snow, I'll bite. If I bite, I might not be able to stop until he's drained. As long as I have any control, as long as I can think, this is the line I've set.

Sometimes, in my nightmares, I do it anyway. He falls to the ground, white and bloodless, and I wake up screaming. I've never told him that's what I dream. He thinks I'm dreaming about the day I was Turned, and sometimes I do, but most of the time I dream about the day he dies.

The droplet is growing fatter. Redder. My stomach churns.

My mouth is so dry.

Even with the stink of rot filling my nose, I'm still thirsty. It's pointless pretending that I'm not. Would I stop being thirsty if I let myself feed on someone? Or would that make it worse?

Do I have to drain someone to lose myself, or will this single drop do the job for me?

It falls and lands on my lower lip. I flick my tongue out to catch it as another drop falls. The flavour is...a lot like bagged blood, but fresher. No chemical aftertaste. Nothing special.

Who am I trying to fool? It's nothing like the bagged stuff. Or the rats. It's better in ways that I can't describe and don't want to think about.

Snow lets another couple of drops fall, before I shake my head. "Stop. The vial."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "Was it enough?"

I don't know, but I try to look reassuring. "Probably."

He knows me too well to look convinced, but he doesn't argue. We both know that if a few drops didn't work, a few more won't make any difference, and I won't kill someone to save my life. Unlife. There would be a big difference between what we did to the Mage and...that.

He withdraws his hand, curling his fingers around his bleeding thumb, and puts the vial against my lips. The scent of peaches and acid makes my nose itch, almost as vile as the rotten black blood. Snow tips the vial and thick, syrupy liquid flows into my mouth, washing the last of the blood in with it.

I swallow and it's like someone stuck a cattle prod against my spine. Power surges in and I arch off the sofa, trying to scream, but my voice is trapped inside my throat. It's flowing through my veins, burning out the poison. I can't stop the pain and I don't want to, because this? This is the kind of pain that's good.

It's burning the poison and the black, rotten blood. My belly aches and itches as the torn flesh knits together and _I can feel it_.

The power and pain intensify and I can't think any more. My world narrows to the inside of my head, to the hum in my ears and the pain in my body, and then it narrows even more and everything goes dark.

***

## Simon

Baz still looks too grey and too still when it's over, but I can tell that something changed, even though I don't have magic any more to examine him with. The blood has stopped oozing from his belly and I think the stab wound might even have healed.

He wakes up before I have time to really panic properly. His eyelashes flutter and his nose twitches, and then his eyes open and fix on me.

"I'm alive, then," he says.

I offer him a smile that feels crooked and watery. "No more than you usually are."

Baz snorts. "Funny, Snow."

"You're feeling better, I guess."

"I think so." He tries to sit up, but his mouth twists and he flops down again. "Poisoning takes it out of a bloke, though."

"What do you need?" I hesitate, before lifting my chin. "If you need it, you can--"

He glares. "Stop. Don't tempt me."

There's a feverish glint in his eyes that I've only seen a couple of times before, when he was close to breaking and biting, and I don't push it. Baz has a code. I think it's about his mum, and what she'd expect, and I won't make him break it. We've already pushed the limits of it by feeding him a few drops of my blood. 

"What can I get you?" I ask.

"You can't get me anything." He grimaces. "You could ask Bunce to summon some rats or a fox or two. A deer would probably bring too much attention."

He must be completely empty if he's asking someone else to summon something. I try not to look worried. "A deer this far from the nearest park, on a Thursday morning, might be hard to explain to the neighbours, yeah. Anything else?"

"Coffee? And a couple of burgers?"

As soon as he says it, I realise that I'm hungry, too. Starved. "I'll do my best."

I'm just about to stand when he grabs my wrist and stops me. His grip isn't tight and I could probably break free in a moment, but I don't.

"Thank you," he says.

I shrug. "You're welcome?"

His gaze flickers down to the hand I've been trying to keep out of sight. It feels sticky with blood, but I think it's stopped. I don't dare loosen my fingers from around my thumb to check.

"You should cover that," he says. "Quickly. Lots of layers and as much tape as you can find."

I nod and he releases me wrist, flopping down onto the sofa with his eyes closed. I think about kissing him, just brushing his cheek with my mouth, but he's on the edge and too thirsty, and I don't want to push him over, so I retreat to Penny's bedroom and wake her up instead.

***

We don't talk about anything important until later. Baz pretends that he's not tired, but he lies down on the bed beside me when I have a nap and we both sleep for hours.

Penny must have been worried, because she leaves a chicken casserole in the oven for us when she goes out for to the pub with Premal. There's a box of mince pies on the counter, too. Baz eats almost as much as I do. He still doesn't eat much around other people, but he doesn't make as much of a fuss about eating in front of me any more. I've seen him do worse than show a few too many teeth while munching on a sandwich, so I guess he's decided that there's no point hiding away from me. 

After supper, we sit on the sofa together. Or at least, I sit and Baz slumps against me, and it only feel natural to put my arm around his shoulders. I'm still getting used to navigating some of this, but apparently cuddling on the sofa is the same whether I'm kissing girls or boys.

Penny must have used a cleaning spell while we were napping. The sofa looks like new, which is impressive when it's one we got from Freecycle and it had a few worn patches when we picked it up.

The TV is on, but I'm not really watching it. I don't think Baz is, either, because after a while he says, "The tree doesn't look too bad."

"Thanks, I think."

"It looks like Christmas threw up in here, but the tree is almost tasteful. Was Bunce in charge of decorating it?"

"No, that was me. Penny did everything else." 

"There's still hope for you, then."

"Because I can decorate a tree that doesn't make you cringe?"

Baz shrugs. "They never managed it in seven years at Watford. I was raised with standards in my Christmas decorations."

I smile. "I've seen your house, remember? Your decorations are so perfect, they're boring."

"Like I said, your tree doesn't look too bad." He stares at it for a long moment, before adding. "Are you still going to Bunce's family for Christmas?"

"For lunch, yeah."

"I could come here. On Christmas Day. If you'd like." There's a wary look in his eyes that I don't like, as though he really thinks I'd say no. "I could catch up on my reading while you're off eating turkey."

I nod, trying to look cool and calm. Trying not to grin like I've just won the lottery, even though it feels like I have. It's just my boyfriend spending Christmas with me, no big deal. "You could stay over on Christmas Eve. I'd like that, if you're free."

"I don't have anywhere else to go."

That's a blatant lie, because his family will expect him home no matter what he's doing or who he's dating, but I won't challenge him on it. Not if it gets him here for a couple of days, away from the stiff angry atmosphere at his parents' house. The part where it also means that I won't have to pretend to be fine over the phone if it turns out that I'm not handling the anniversary well after all is just a bonus.

I'll ask Penny's mum if she doesn't mind an extra person at the table. Baz won't eat much in company, but he shouldn't spend the day with his books and he won't let me make excuses not to go there for Christmas dinner.

For a while, we sit on the sofa and watch the tree. The telly provides a soft background noise, but I've lost track of what's happening.

"I could have died last night," Baz says after a while.

"You didn't, though."

"But I could have." Baz turns to look at me, and there's a deep frown between his brows. "I don't really know anything about being a vampire. There's nothing in the books about poisons that can kill me. Everything I know is what we learned from trial and error when I was growing up."

It takes a really effort to keep my expression neutral, but I do it. "You know the important stuff."

"Do I? Maybe it's time for me to learn more." Baz makes a wry face. "I could write a real self-help book. _So You're a Vampire: What Next?_ "

"Would you?"

"Crowley, no, but I could do the research anyway."

"I could help."

"You'd do that?"

I shrug. "Of course."

He lets out a long sigh and the relief in his eyes is so intense that I almost kiss him. Almost, because there's still one thing worrying me. It's been niggling at the back of my mind since we woke up from our nap.

"We should also try to work out who wants to kill you," I say.

Baz makes an unimpressed face. "The list is so long, Snow. I'm a Grimm-Pitch."

"The war is over," I say, "and they used a vampire poison."

"Huh." I can see the cogs starting to turn behind his eyes. The thrill of a new challenge. "You're going to get Bunce in to help with this part, right?"

"If you want me to."

"She's the brains of your friendship."

Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I put up with him. I start to reach for a cushion to bash him over the head with--some habits are hard to completely break--but he grins and kisses me, and I lose track of why I was annoyed as soon as his mouth touches mine.

We'll start investigating tomorrow. Right now, Baz is alive and kissing me, and I don't want to think any more.


End file.
